


A great team player

by wtfkovah



Series: Sweater Vest Stories [5]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Awkwardness, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cute, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Out of Character, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: Jihoon attempts to play matchmaker amongst his co-workers and Seungcheol misunderstands.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: Sweater Vest Stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736101
Comments: 47
Kudos: 255





	A great team player

**Author's Note:**

> REUPLOAD

There must have been a power-cut during the night, because when Jihoon wakes up under his own steam it’s suspiciously bright outside while the clock on his nightstand still reads 03:23.

It is _not_ 3:23 am, he quickly discovers once he checks his cell phone, but closer to 8am. Which means he’s running almost an hour late already.

Not a great way to start anyone’s Monday morning. So scrambling out of bed, he has to forgo his usual routine of making his bed, singing in the shower _and_ having breakfast, so he can yank on his clothes and catch the next bus to the subway. (Though he still makes time for the truly important things: like feeding the little birds nesting outside his window, because if it hadn’t been for their delightful birdsong, he would never have woken up in the first place.)

He manages to make up some time by grabbing a cab from the station to Choi Corp, but it still means he’s arriving alongside the rest of the late morning crowd and queuing for the elevator. When he finally squeezes his way into one, he just manages to hit the button for his floor before he’s gracelessly manhandled into a one-armed hug by none other than Wen _Staples_ Junhui.

 _“Well, well well_ —if it isn’t Sweater vest.” Junhui drawls, ruffling Jihoon’s hair.

Jihoon tries to slap his hand away, and ends up with an arm draped over his shoulders and his face smushed against Junhui’s chest.

“My name is Jihoon.” He grumbles, though Junhui _knows_ that already and yet, is still insistent on calling him everything but his actual name.

“Don’t let this Mini-Man fool you fellas,” Junhui announces out loud to the rest of the elevator. “Sweater vest here is the real MVP. He single-handily saved my ass.”

“Is that so?” A familiar voice speaks up, and Jihoon turns to find the rest of Junhui’s cronies are also sharing the space with them.

There’s Kwon Soonyoung, a hot-shot in the marketing department; Lee Chan, a former intern who’s worked his way up to a position in accounting and finance; and Xu Minghao, a middle manager in the purchasing sector. There’s also Vernon, fondly known by everyone as ‘The IT guy’, who isn’t _really_ one of Junhui’s usual suspects, but seems to get dragged along with his antics all the same.

“Yep. You know those 30,000 boxes of staples I was landed with?” Junhui tells them, voice lowered for the benefit of the nine to five’s crowded in a herd around them.

Minghao snorts. “Who could forget.”

“ _Well_ , Sweater vest here helped me get them off my hands, by teaching me how to butter Seungkwan up.” Junhui grins, squeezing his arm around Jihoon's shoulder. 

“Maybe he could teach _Vernon_ how to butter him up too.” Soonyoung mutters, nudging Vernon with an elbow.

They all laugh hugely at that—except Vernon, who just rolls his eyes, and Jihoon, because the joke is completely lost on him.

“I don’t get it.” Jihoon blinks, “Why’s everyone laughing?”

Junhui tips his head to the side to level Vernon a pitying look, “Vernonie here’s got a little thing for Seungkwan. He’s been trying to talk to him for _years_ , but he just keeps clamming up whenever they’re alone together. It's very pathetic.”

Vernon, gnawing on a hangnail, quickly pulls his hand from his mouth, only to wind up scratching the bridge of his nose instead. “Hey, it’s not my fault. Seungkwan’s not exactly the _easiest_ person to talk to yanno.”

Jihoon can’t suppress the bright smile that spreads across his face at that revelation, because he may have, once or twice, nursed tiny, private notions about setting Seungkwan up on a date with someone. Seungkwan is forever complaining about being unlucky in love, how ‘cut-throat’ the dating scene has become since he broke things off with his ex and how virtually everyone online is either 80 years old or a creepy, over-eager incel. He complains about being single so much, Jihoon has honestly been considering setting him up with Seokmin at one point, except now— _now_ he has other ideas. 

Chwe Vernon shaped ideas. 

“Oh my god, you guys are such a perfect match. I can just picture it now! You should talk to him. I think you should talk to him. Will you talk to him? Please say you’ll talk to him? Or _I_ could talk to him for you if you like?” Jihoon blurts out, and okay—he could have sounded _more_ enthusiastic, but only by a teensy bit.

Vernon gives him a weirded out sideways look that’s probably completely justified, seeing as Jihoon has now latched onto his arm in an excited death grip.

“Uhh—I don’t think so."

“Come on Vernonie—” Junhui wheedles, shoving at Vernon’s shoulder playfully, “Sweater vest is offering to do all the hard work for you. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

Vernon frowns like he’s considering it, but before either of them can say another word, the lift doors swish open and suddenly......

Seungcheol is there.

“Oh, good morning Mr Choi.” Jihoon bows with a smile. 

He likes the way Seungcheol’s lips quirk up when he's oddly formal with him, so he makes a habit of calling him _Mr. Choi_ when they’re in company, in much the same way Seungcheol calls him “Peanut” and “Pickle” and what has become an increasingly ridiculous assortment of pet names. Seungcheol had called him “kitten” twice yesterday during a manager’s briefing and Jihoon thought Jisoo was going to have an aneurysm on the spot.

But instead of garnering the desired effect this time, Seungcheol gives the minutest of nods—the littlest nod in the whole nod family, and steps into the elevator.

Jihoon’s willing to bet Seungcheol’s not in a good mood today, and he’s proven right a moment later when Seungcheol's gaze narrows briefly on the arm Junhui’s thrown over Jihoon’s shoulder, before he locks eyes with Junhui and _glares_.

Junhui whimpers. Quietly, though, so only Jihoon hears. Maybe.

In their strangely tension-fraught, deathly awkward ten-second interaction, Junhui manages to disentangle his arm from where it’s resting and slithers away, flattening himself against the elevator wall.

Apparently this is enough to appease Seungcheol, who takes his position next to Jihoon as the doors slide shut.

It’s deathly silent as the elevator travels upwards, and Jihoon gets the distinct impression that everyone is holding their breath. Even as they reach the 20th—23rd and 30th floor, where most of the occupants should be stepping out to head to their desks, nobody makes a move. It’s as if Seungcheol’s some kind of Tyrannosaurus Rex, and they’re all terrified to make a move and draw attention to themselves in case he eats them.

When they finally reach their stop on the 36th floor, Seungcheol is the first to depart, whistling the rather fitting ‘Imperial March’ theme as he strolls down the corridor.

Lingering behind for a moment, Jihoon smiles apologetically at the harried looking occupants of the elevator, and says, “I know it might not _seem_ like it—but he’s actually a really nice guy.”

Nobody seems to believe that in the slightest and Jihoon honestly can’t blame them; some days it feels like Seungcheol’s reign of douchery is all just a carefully orchestrated ploy to minimise his interactions with, well, _everyone._

It's a depressing thought, but Jihoon still considers Seungcheol a 'work in progress'.

Rome wasn't built in a day after all. 

* * *

The day had started a cool one, windy and grey and heavy with clouds—but around midday the sun reappeared with a _vengeance_ , and now it’s turned the highly reflective building and its shiny chrome interiors into a literal _oven_.

It’s the hottest day on record. At least, that’s what they keep saying on the news; and Jihoon’s not about to argue. The temperature has shot up by so many degrees in so few hours, he half expects to look out the window and find they’re on the actual surface of the sun. And he hates bitterly cold winters, he really does—the bite of the cold wind on face, chapped lips, the aching pain in fingers left exposed to the elements—but at least you can dress in _layers_ when you’re cold. When it’s _this_ unbearably hot, well—there are only so many layers of clothing a person can take off before somebody calls the police.

Unfortunately, with the building’s air-con down for maintenance, people everywhere have resorted to doing just that. They’re shrugging out of their jackets, rolling up their sleeves and congregating around desk fans like lapsed Catholics at Holy communion. Even Jihoon himself has considered stripping out of his sweater vest, but he’s half-afraid people won’t recognise him if he does since most of the office has taken to calling him ‘Sweater Vest’.

How original.

He does manage to cool down a little by shutting the windows and drawing the blinds down to keep the sun out, but Seungcheol ruins all his efforts at _remaining_ cool when he returns from his 2pm meeting, announces he’s ‘too fucking hot’ and takes his shirt off. Which—

 _Wow_ , Jihoon thinks, and not for the first time.

Not even the _hundredth_ time, because he’s always accepted that Seungcheol was smoking hot, but his hotness has taken on a whole new level now that he’s shirtless and irritable and built like a _Greek fucking God!_

What the fuck’s he dieting for when he looks like _that_?

Seriously, he’s got biceps he could bench-press a car with, and abs you could easily grate cheese on, and when he leans against the desk to reach for his hand-held fan, a bead of sweat slides down the corded line of his back so _slowly_ , it’s possible Jihoon whimpers in reaction and takes a hasty sip of his ice-tea to cover it.

“How are you not dying of heat in that sweater vest?” Seungcheol huffs, moving to sit behind his desk. “I’m not even wearing layers and I’m sweating like a pig.”

“I don’t—I don’t know. I guess I’m tricking my body into thinking it’s cool or something.” Jihoon offers, staring at his computer screen, his desk, the wall—anywhere that’s not Seungcheol’s naked chest. Better to look rude and distracted than to get caught salivating over his boss.

“Well they better fix the air-con soon, or I’m going to be working butt naked by the end of the day.” Seungcheol grits out, and wow— _for real_? Jihoon really could have done without that mental image right now. He’s already more aroused than he can ever remember being, and he has at _least_ another five hours of work before he can do a damn thing about it.

Then, just when it seems like things couldn’t get any worse, there's something that sounds like a belt buckle hitting the floor, followed by a very relieved sigh, and when Jihoon chances a look up, he finds Seungcheol has stripped down to his _boxers_.

“Oh my god.” Jihoon croaks quietly at the sight. He does not drop his ice-tea on the design briefs, but it's a close thing.

Seungcheol must hear is tiny squeak of surprise, and spins his chair to face him, frowning.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks, gesturing at his distressful lack of clothing. “It’s just this heat is unbearable, and my suit is 100% wool. I was sweating like crazy in that meeting.”

Jihoon manages a real enough laugh. “Of course not. I understand—I dressed for a cooler day myself. Hopefully they’ll have the air-con up and running again soon, before people start passing out.”

_People like me…....Because you’re half-naked._

Seungcheol makes a vague noise of agreement, then his eyes narrow at Jihoon across the room.

“You can strip down too, you know. If you like. I wouldn't mind.”

Fire ignites beneath Jihoon's skin, and he turns away, stares at the floor as he forces himself to say, “I’m fine really. But thank you.”

He lasts less than ten minutes in Seungcheol’s shirtless, pantless company, before he just _has_ to get out of the room and, thankfully, there are some budgetary revisions he needs to collect from Wonwoo’s office, so he has a suitable excuse to leave at the ready.

Seungcheol waves him off as he politely excuses himself, too busy tampering with the room’s air-conditioning unit to notice Jihoon’s stuttering more than usual as he makes a beeline for the exit.

The empty corridors are an honest-to-god sauna in this weather, and Jihoon speeds through them quickly, by-passing the elevator to take the staircase down to the 30th floor. Partly because the stair-way is much cooler than the chimney of heat the elevator shaft has turned into, but mostly because he’s buying some time. He figured the longer he’s away from the office, the more likely Seungcheol will have to cool down, come to his senses, and put on some damn clothes.

Honestly, it’s warm enough without his scorchingly hot boss parading around half-naked.

When he makes it to Wonwoo’s office, he finds the man isn’t faring well against the heat either. He’s reclining in his seat, facing the window, and directing a hand-held fan down the front of his shirt. He makes an impatient noise when Jihoon knocks on the door.

“Go away—I’m busy.”

Jihoon frowns, stepping into the room, “But I need to collect the budgetary revisions for Mr Choi. And also, you’re just staring out the window.”

“ _And_ it requires my full attention. Piss off.” Wonwoo snaps irritably.

Jihoon’s doesn’t let that deter him, and strolls right in; pleasing Seungcheol is always better than earning someone else’s displeasure, and he doubts Wonwoo really means it anyway. He’s usually more friendly than this, so it’s likely the heat’s just making him cranky.

That, or he really doesn’t want to be disturbed while he’s watching.....

Jihoon comes to a stop at the foot of Wonwoo’s desk, and immediately determines that not only is Wonwoo staring outside the window, he is in fact:

a) Staring outside the window at Mingyu the window washer.

b) Mingyu is currently shirtless, very tanned and nicely muscled, and is dripping in sweat as he swipes his squeegee across the glass in smooth strokes.

c) Wonwoo is wholly absorbed in his staring, and not the least bit embarrassed to be caught doing it.

“Oh my god,” Jihoon whispers to himself. Then a little more loudly, “Wonwoo, are you….checking out _Mingyu_?”

A smile cracks across Wonwoo’s face and his voice takes on a distinctly _dreamy_ quality. “Is that what his name is? _Hmm_. He’s been washing my window every fortnight for the past two years and I’ve always wondered what I should call him. Now I know..... _Mingyu_.”

Jihoon notes this as the pitifully obvious non-answer that it is and considers his response. Wonwoo’s an attractive enough guy; always dressed sharply and expensively, and always frowning. In fact, Jihoon is hard pressed to remember a single moment he’s seen Wonwoo smile the way he’s smiling now and honestly, that’s just sad.

“You _know_ —instead of just _staring_ , you could just open the window and talk to him.” He suggests.

Wonwoo raises his head and gawps at Jihoon with wide eyes, staring like _one_ of them is crazy and he can't quite figure out which.

“And why on Earth would I do that?”

The contempt in his voice is enough to make Jihoon think maybe he's read the situation all wrong; maybe Wonwoo’s just staring out the window, and Mingyu just _happens_ to be there. Except there’s something almost _evasive_ in Wonwoo’s gaze that suggests otherwise.

“Are you saying you don't find him at all attractive?” Jihoon probes carefully.

The sound Wonwoo makes is derisive. “Of course not,” He huffs, though he’s still refusing to meet Jihoon’s eyes, and a moment later he backtracks, “I mean, _yes_ , he's probably considered r _easonably_ attractive to _some_ people. If you’re into tall, dark haired men, with ridiculously broad shoulders and muscles and stupid, full lips. And besides—even if I _did_ find him attractive, what would I even say? _‘Hello, you missed a spot. Please put a shirt on.’_ I’m terrible at small talk.”

Jihoon looks at him kindly, “I’m sure that’s not true Wonwoo, I’ve seen you give loads of presentations and you’re always great at engaging your audience and keeping their attention. This is kind of like a _scaled_ down version of that. You can start by introducing yourself, spark up a conversation about the weather or something, then maybe ask him out for coffee? It’s not that difficult, and I know Mingyu—he's a nice guy.”

Wonwoo seems to really consider his suggestion for a moment, then his mouth twists into something hard.

“No, I—no I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jihoon asks, shuffling closer to the desk, “He's not your manager or your subordinate, he’s not even _employed_ by Choi Corp. He’s employed by an external contractor, so it's not like it would be against the rules.”

Wonwoo plucks at his cuffs, looking irritated.

“It’s not about that, okay. He’s just….not my type. We’re too different.” He informs Jihoon with a sniff of indignation.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. It doesn’t appear that Wonwoo is yet ready to face his own desires.

“How do you know if you’ve never actually _spoken_ to him?”

Wonwoo regards him coolly for a moment, then shakes his head, “Please Jihoon, let’s be realistic here. I’m a highly paid corporate executive, he’s a window washer—it would never work. We’re destined to admire each other from afar, like star crossed lovers. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou my shirtless Romeo.” He says, with a melodramatic air of bereavement.

Jihoon doesn’t know how drooling at a shirtless man through a window is comparable to a fabled love story, but he’s not about to trample all over Wonwoo’s fanciful notions.

“So, uhm, are you Juliet in this scenario?” He tries to inject levity into the question, but the attempt only gets him an exasperated look.

Wonwoo huffs something annoyed, but doesn't say another word. He just spins his chair back towards his desk and grabs a folder sitting in the centre, holds it out for Jihoon to take.

Accepting the proffered folder with a quiet sigh, Jihoon shuffles back towards the door, then stops.

He looks back over his shoulder at Wonwoo’s desk, at his unsmiling face, at his serious eyes, at the way Wonwoo’s fingers are fidgeting with everything on the table, as if he can’t wait for Jihoon to leave so he can get back to his staring in peace. It's sad. 

“I could _talk_ to him for you—If you like?”

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Wonwoo rejects his offer, stating the same silly reasons as before: he’s a busy man; they’re too different; he’s not interested in pursuing any kind of relationship, and even if he _was_ —he doesn’t need Jihoon to do his bidding. Which makes it _doubly_ unexpected when he stops by Seungcheol’s office the next day, saying he’s changed his mind and would Jihoon ‘test the waters’ were Mingyu is concerned.

Jihoon can’t quite contain his delight at the prospect of playing matchmaker, and immediately gets to work.

He makes a detailed list of Wonwoo’s interests, his likes, dislikes, his dating expectations and pencils in a few free dates into his calendar. He may also rush out and buy a new note-book with tiny hearts on the cover, which he decorates with more tiny hearts and labels as ‘Jihoon’s lonely hearts club’, so he can have a dedicated log of all his clients. Even though it’s just one client right now, and a reluctant one at that, he’s pretty optimistic about picking up more business. Especially at Choi Corp—where most of the employees appear to be young, single, business minded professionals with very little free time to find true love outside of their busy schedules.

Well, not anymore.

Jihoon’s going to help them find it.

He’s _determined_ to, because everyone deserves a chance at finding love, even the most hopeless cases, like—

Jihoon stops scribbling when a shadow falls over his notebook, and he raises his head to Vernon loitering in front of his desk.

“Oh, hello Vernon. What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?”

Vernon licks his lips a couple of times and darts a glance in the direction of the open door. “Oh, nothing. I was just passing by, thought I’d stop in and say _hello_.”

“Just passing by huh?” Jihoon echoes speculatively.

There’s nothing up here on the 36th floor apart from Seungcheol’s office, the waiting area and a few conference rooms; he doubts Vernon would have business on this floor unless expressly summoned to repair something. And last he checked, everything’s in perfect working order.

Jihoon sets his notebook aside carefully and gives Vernon a knowing look, “Have you perhaps reconsidered my offer to set you up with _Seungkwan_?”

One of Vernon’s shoulders rises in a shrug as he levels a sheepish smile Jihoon’s way. “ _Maybe_. I mean, if you think you can help, and if he’s _interested_ ….I’d like to see where it can go.”

Jihoon smiles at him, professionally, even though he’s already vibrating with excitement in his seat.

Two clients. Wow. His business is _booming_.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll certainly do my best.” He offers, in what he thinks is his best impersonation of a professional, level-headed individual. Of course, he ruins it a moment later by squeeing and clapping his hands together gleefully, “Oh god, I’m so excited. I think you guys would be really cute together.”

Vernon’s smile settles a little more naturally across his face as he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thanks. I uh—hope you’re right.” He fidgets anxiously on the spot for a moment, letting his gaze dart down the empty hallway before returning his attention to Jihoon. “So—will you speak to him today? Or….”

Jihoon stares at him a little slack-jawed, because— _wow_ , Vernon seems really eager to get the ball rolling with Seungkwan. His enthusiasm is a breath of fresh air when your only other client is Jeon-Frowny Face-Wonwoo.

“You really like him, huh?” Jihoon asks, dimpling at him.

“Well, _yeah_ —it’s Boo Seungkwan. What’s not to like.” Vernon replies dryly. Then, more tentatively, “I’ve been dying to ask him out for years, but I’ve never had the courage to approach him.”

Jihoon grins, “Aww. That’s so adorable.”. 

“—And I hear he’s great in the sack.” Vernon adds, and Jihoon can’t help the way his eyebrows tick upward.

Ah. So _that’s_ what this is about.

“Not that I expect us to get sexual immediately, of course,” Vernon says, suddenly frantic like he’s worried Jihoon is judging him. “I’m a realistic guy, I know we’ll need time to get to know each other before we get to the _good stuff_. But you know sex is—“He coughs, clears his throat. “I _do_ hope it’s something we can _pursue_.”

“Mmhm,” Jihoon hums, noncommittally.

Personally, he never thinks it’s a good idea to walk into a relationship thinking with your dick. It never ends well, at least—not in his albeit _limited_ experience. And he’s not sure how to voice that without coming across super judgmental.

Before he can say anything though, motion in his peripheral vision draws his eyes to a familiar figure in a charcoal-grey suit. By the time his gaze reaches the man's face, Jihoon already knows exactly who is standing in the doorway.

“Hello Seungcheol. How was your meeting? A lot more bearable I hope, with the air-con all fixed.”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer him—he just stands frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on the outlier in the room. Vernon. Then his eyes narrow dangerously, and he steps forward until they’re practically nose-to-nose.

“Who the _hell_ are you?” He grunts, giving Vernon a frankly scathing once over. 

Vernon offers him a watery smile, then shoots Jihoon a sideways look that seems to say, _‘Oh my god, please help me’_

“I’m Vernon sir.” He says, reaching up to push his glasses up his nose. “The uh—the IT guy. I fixed your laptop last week when you threw, uhm, I mean, _dropped_ it down the stairs.”

“IT guy huh? How interesting.” Seungcheol’s voice is a mix of wry amusement and carefully veiled irritation. “Tell me Vernon, is my computer broken?”

Poor Vernon can't keep his voice from cracking, “N-no.”

Seungcheol smiles, which is not comforting or friendly and clearly isn’t meant to be. It gives Jihoon flashbacks to _Jaws_.

“Is _Jihoon’s_ computer broken?”

Vernon swallows thickly and shakes his head, “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“Well then….” Seungcheol trails off, jerking his head towards the door pointedly, “Get out of my office.”

Vernon emits a rather indignant squawk at being so rudely dismissed, and then seems to collect himself, “Uh—yes sir.”

Jihoon watches Vernon leave, then straightens up and glowers furiously at Seungcheol—well, as furiously as he can, which turns out to be not very furious at all.

It’s hard to be mad and stay mad at Seungcheol, even if that was so unnecessarily rude and precisely the reason why Seungcheol is so disliked by lower tier employees. Partly because Seungcheol’s wearing that charcoal pinstripe suit that really brings out his thighs— _EYES_. His eyes. It really brings out his _eyes_. And also because Seungcheol is now standing in front of his desk, looking at him oddly, head slightly cocked as if he were a puzzle he was trying to solve. 

“Something wrong?” Jihoon asks, feeling the slow heat of blood creeping into his face.

Seungcheol’s eyes holds him intently for several seconds, fierce but also strangely unreadable. Taking Jihoon in with the kind of scrutiny he usually reserves for intense business negotiations.

"I got those papers you wanted copied," Jihoon whispers, just in case it’s worry putting that furrow at the centre of Seungcheol's brow.

A heartbeat more, and then Seungcheol visibly shakes himself. Quirks one eyebrow and straightens his shoulders. "Yeah, great. Thanks.”

* * *

Seungcheol can’t believe what he’s hearing.

He isn’t intentionally listening in to Jihoon’s phone conversation with his _friend_ , but when the phone rang on Jihoon’s desk and he wasn’t there to answer it, Seungcheol had walked over and picked it up, only to hear two voices already conversing.

 _“I dunno about this Jihoon. I just got out of a really intense relationship.”_ One voice is saying.

Seungcheol blinks at the receiver, baffled. Then realises that Jihoon must have already answered the phone from where he’s currently holed up, in the storage room down the corridor.

Jihoon’s voice sounds amused when he answers, _“Didn’t you end things with your ex two years ago?”_

The other voice is silent for a moment. Seungcheol's not sure if he's considering the question or if he's just angry to have been called out. Finally he sighs and mutters, _“Yeah—It’s been two years, but it was a bad break-up, okay. The heart takes time to recover.”_

Suddenly Seungcheol realises he’s intruding on what must be a private call, and moves to set the phone down, only to rest it right back against his ear when he recalls the conversation he'd overheard the day before. He’d arrived at his office just in time to hear about some date Jihoon had been trying to plan with that IT nerd, _Vermin_. Except that jerk had heavily implied he had only one goal in mind—to get in Jihoon’s pants—which had stunned Jihoon into an uncomfortable silence.

In all honestly, Seungcheol’s glad that Jihoon’s decided to kick that nerd to curb and move on to someone else—but there’s a worrying thread of _desperation_ in Jihoon’s voice. Especially when he huffs and says:

_“Come on Seungkwan. You’re always complaining about being single and now that I’m offering to help you out, your heart’s still mending? I call bullshit on that. You’re nervous about dating a co-worker, and I get that. It can be a little weird if things don’t work out and you have to see each other every day after—”_

_“That’s not even the issue.”_ Seungkwan interjects hurriedly. _“I just—I have a type. You know. And I like to stick to it.”_

 _“Well I think it’s time you branched out.”_ Jihoon says, surprisingly confident and very matter of fact. But his former desperation soon returns as he adds, _“Please? It’s just one date. You won’t even have to pay for your dinner, it’s on me.”_

Seungcheol blinks, surprised and mildly irritated that Jihoon’s going to such lengths to secure a date with a guy that sounds, frankly, not the least bit interested in him.

This guy sounds even worse than _Vermin_ , who, despite his many obvious faults, had at least been _eager_ to date Jihoon—whereas this _new_ inferior specimen is making it sound like he’s being extremely inconvenienced by the offer.

_What a total asshole._

_How dare he?_

Now Seungcheol really wishes he’d never picked the phone up in the first place because this is pretty hard to listen to. His little peanut deserves better. A lot better than this dickhead who doesn’t even bother to sound affected when he replies with:

_“I’m kind of enjoying the single life right now, you know. Just casual hook ups and mind-blowing sex, no strings attached.”_

There is absolute silence for seven and a half seconds. Which is long enough that Seungcheol fears they’ve cottoned on to his presence on the line. Then a second later, Jihoon makes a considering noise and says, _“I think I might be able to make that work.”_

Seungcheol almost drops the phone in shock.

He would have bet any amount of money that he was too jaded to be shocked by anything at this point in his life. And he would have totally lost that bet because he honestly never expected Jihoon to agree to those terms. It seems wildly incongruous to Seungcheol, to the image he’s begun to build in his mind of the sort of romantic partner Jihoon must be. But this just proves— _you never really know._

The jerk-ass on the phone seems just as surprised as he is with Jihoon’s willingness, laughing as he says: _“Really? Just casual sex whenever I feel like it, no mushy feelings involved? I always thought you were a bit of a romantic Jihoon, I never expected you to help me with that.”_

 _“Well—maybe some mushy feelings will blossom after.”_ Jihoon says, sounding like himself again, so sweetly hopeful.

 _“I really doubt it.”_ Seungkwan snorts and Seungcheol is instinctively offended on Jihoon’s behalf. Enraged enough that he’s tempted to chime in and tell Seungkwan when he can stick it. He has to remind himself at the last second he’s _eavesdropping_ , and this _really_ isn’t any of his business—even as the next words out of Seungkwan’s mouth have him positively frothing at the mouth.

_“If I’m going to agree to this thing Jihoonie, I just want to make one thing clear—I’m only in it for the sex. Take it or leave it.”_

There is a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line, and Jihoon’s answering “ _Okay_ ,” kind of breaks his heart.

When the call ends and they both hang up, Seungcheol stares at that phone in his hand for a long time, deliberating over what (if anything) he should do about this. Though he knows this is _really_ none of his business and he would never _have_ known had he been minding his own, it feels wrong just to sit by and let Jihoon practically hoe himself out.

Moving over to the windows, he stares out at his domain—all of it, as far as the eye can see. He can buy and sell this town a hundred times over, and yet, he's standing there, worrying about his petite PA’s love life.

This whole situation just doesn’t make sense to him, no matter which way he slices it. For one, he can’t fathom why Jihoon’s resorting to such measures to secure a date suddenly. And second, it’s hard for Seungcheol to reconcile this desperate, needy, I’ll-take-what-I-can-get Jihoon with the shy, thoughtful, wonderfully wholesome tiny duckling that’s been baking him treats every weekend.

After some agonizing deliberation and quite a bit of glaring at nothing in particular, he concedes that there isn’t much he can actually say to Jihoon without revealing he’d been listening in to his conversation like some creepy stalker, or worse, like a concerned father figure.

Which— _no_.

Just no.

That’s the _last_ way he wants to come across.

As much as it pains him to stand by and say nothing, he’s just going to make peace with what he knows.

* * *

On Thursday afternoon, Jihoon’s busy revising Seungcheol’s schedule for the upcoming week – making neat annotations of all his meetings, business luncheons and conference calls into his favourite notebook. When a squeaky sound makes him glance up, he finds Mingyu’s hovering outside the window a few feet in front of him, drawing his Squeegee back and forth over a particularly stubborn bird-shit stain.

Seeing him, Jihoon waves, then carefully sets down his pen and closes the notebook. With Seungcheol out of the office for a meeting, he figures it’s safe enough to sneak in a quick chat without earning his boss’ ire. So he doesn’t hesitate to cross the room and push the window open.

“Hello Mingyu!” He says, smiling brightly.

“Hey Jihoo—” Mingyu starts, then hunkers down and peers into the office with a look of sudden, blanched panic.

Instinctively, Jihoon checks over his shoulder. Nothing there.

"What's wrong?"

Mingyu swallows with a clicking sound. “Is the coast clear? Is Darth Vader gone?” 

Jihoon breathes a burst of surprised laughter. “Don’t worry, Seungcheol’s in the middle of a meeting. It’s safe to talk, though I don’t know why you’re so afraid of him. He’s not scary—just a little grumpy sometimes.”

“That’s a very generous was of putting it.” Mingyu drawls, dropping the Squeegee into his bucket, but the tension eases from his shoulders as he braces his weight against the ledge and slips into the office. “You know last time I came here, he glared at me through the window till I left. I got the distinct feeling he was thinking about sabotaging the scaffold.”

Jihoon is quick to shake his head, “Seungcheol would never do something so underhanded. If he wanted to kill you—he’d just _do it_.” 

Mingyu blinks at him, only slightly surprised, “That’s not exactly a good endorsement of his character.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother arguing; he’s beginning to realise it will take a lot more than his admittedly bias character reference to sway people’s opinions on Seungcheol. They need to see his sweet side for themselves, and Seungcheol doesn’t exactly do himself any favours on that front.

“So, listen Mingyu—I wanted to ask you something.” Jihoon starts, attempting to steer the topic to a more pressing matter. It’s not the smoothest re-direct, but he already knows Mingyu is gay and single and _not_ a serial killer, so there’s no reason why he shouldn’t just _ask_ , “You know the guy in the large corner office on the 30th floor?”

“Sure, sure—tallish, dark hair, glasses—always frowning.” Mingyu says. And then, face turning more serious, adds, “What about him? Is he making a complaint about me?”

“No, no—it’s nothing like that. It’s just that, uhm—well,” Jihoon hesitates, fingers smoothing down his vest out of nervous habit. He practiced what he was planning to say earlier, so it comes out casual and friendly and relaxed—but he hadn’t factored in how his heart thumps up into his throat when he’s nervous. “I was wondering what you thought of him is all,” he finally manages, trying not to sound too much like he's fumbling.

“I think he stares at me a lot.” Mingyu tells him flatly.

Jihoon levels him a exasperated look and shakes his head, “No, I mean—what do you _think_ of him. Do you think he’s cute? Would you say he’s your _type_ for instance?” He asks expectantly.

Mingyu stares at him with wide, startled eyes—an expression that's more amusing than anything else. Then he tilts his head curiously and says, “What are you up to Jihoonie?”

Jihoon pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek ferociously for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath and lets it out. “He kind of has this _huge_ crush on you, but he’s too shy to say anything to you directly.”

Mingyu’s mouth curves up with a hint of a smirk. “ _Really_?” He asks, arching an eyebrow that looks both startled and possibly intrigued. “So you’re what, trying to play matchmaker between us?”

 _“Maybe.”_ Jihoon murmurs, fiddling with his lanyard. “I thought if you were interested in him too, you could write your number on his window or something, or drawn him a nice bouquet like you drew on mine. Then he would then call you after work, and then you’d go on dates, and I would get invited to the wedding.”

“We— _wedding_?” Mingyu chokes out.

Jihoon giggles, “Okay, so I’m maybe jumping the gun a little there, but I do think you guys would make a really cute couple.”

Mingyu actually seems to consider this—but Jihoon's hope withers as he chuckles and shakes his head, “That is a pretty cute idea Jihoon, but I don’t think that’s ever going to work out.”

Jihoon frowns, “Aww, why not?”

Mingyu shrugs pragmatically. “We’re too different.” He says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “He’s a stuffy stuck up guy in a suit—I’m an easy going fella. We’ll both be trying too hard to be someone else the whole time, I can’t really see it moving past a first date.”

Jihoon frowns harder, because that argument is an odd echo of Wonwoo’s. But he’s determined not to give up yet.

“How do you know if you’ve never actually spoken to him? For all you know, you guys might have a lot in common.”

Mingyu looks at him for a long moment as if considering the weight of his words. Then he blurts out, “What’s he like in bed?”

Jihoon eyeballs him, though he is careful to keep the rest of his face as blank and neutral as possible.

“I—I don’t know.” He shrugs awkwardly, “Wouldn’t you like to get to _know_ each other first?”

Mingyu wrinkles his nose in response, “What’s the point of investing time and energy into getting to know each other if the sex is _boring_ at the end? I need to know how good the sex will be _before_ I commit to an exhausting relationship. I’m ready to overlook _a lot_ of personality flaws if I’m guaranteed a good time in bed, you know what I mean.”

Jihoon does _not_ know what he means. Not at all. All he knows is that he should probably contact the sanitation bureau and have the office water supply tested. For chemicals, or hormones, or maybe even LSD. There’s got to be _something_ in the water that’s making everyone super fucking horny.

He lets out his breath, tiredly. “Could we maybe just agree to a date, and see how it goes?”

Mingyu barks an incredulous laugh. “Should have guessed you’d belong to the ‘don’t put out on the first date’ school of thought.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to argue that this has nothing to do with _his_ preferences, but cuts himself off when he catches a hint of movement in the corridor, and a second later, Seungcheol appears in the doorway.

He homes in on them the second he walks in, eyes snapping towards Mingyu and nostrils flaring and _whoa,_ okay, he looks _pissed._ Like—really, _really_ pissed. His brows are knit together in a tight frown, his lips in a vicious scowl and he could probably light the floorboards on fire with his glare.

Mingyu, meanwhile has continued speaking, completely unaware. "Listen Jihoon—I’m not really interested in pursuing any _romantic_ prospects right now, but if you can promise that sex is on the table," He smiles, easy and smooth. "I’ll happily reconsider."

"I don’t think I..." Jihoon starts, but he gets no further as Seungcheol makes his presence known.

“ _You_!” He snarls, so murderously it has Mingyu jumping at least three feet to the left, completely startled.

Jihoon’s pretty sure he’s never seen Seungcheol so angry. His hands are locked into fists by his sides and his eyebrows are in full-on serial killer mode by the time he sheds his jacket, rolls up his shirt sleeves, stalks over to them and—

“Uh oh.” Mingyu croaks, almost knocking Jihoon over in his attempt to back away towards the window.

“Yeah—you better run!” Seungcheol growls, hot on his heels.

“ _Seungcheol_!” Jihoon hears himself gasp as Seungcheol gives chase. There's a healthy dose of _'what the hell’_ going on in his voice, but he's not even sure Seungcheol’s paying attention, busy as he is chasing Mingyu in circles around his desk.

“Don’t just stand there Jihoon—call the police!” Mingyu scolds on his fifth, or was it sixth, circuit of the desk.

“Call an ambulance too while you’re at it. He’s gonna need it.” Seungcheol grumbles.

Jihoon’s too dumbfounded right now to do either. And just as well—because five minutes later, it becomes apparent that intervention really won’t be necessary.

Seungcheol and Mingyu are too evenly matched in speed and stamina to give either of them the upper hand in this chase, so the situation soon decelerates into two grown men looping around a desk endlessly and barking at each other, like a pair of demented _Labradors_.

Honestly, it would be hilarious if Jihoon wasn’t half-afraid one of them will trip and brain themselves on the corner of the desk. At this point, he’s kind of hoping they’ll just tire themselves out, shake hands and go their separate ways—but the look on Seungcheol’s face is still so ‘ _pissed’_ , Jihoon estimates it’ll be another ten minutes of this before he calls it quits.

“This is ridiculous.” He says, trying to frown and doing a frankly shitty job of it. But it succeeds in drawing Seungcheol’s attention away from Mingyu for long enough to offer an escape route. 

Mingyu practically leaps over the desk, barely escaping with his life by catapulting himself out of the window onto the scaffold. It sways dangerously, but he manages to lower it out of reach before Seungcheol has the same crazy idea and follow him. After a few minutes of colourful swearing and fist waving through the open window, Seungcheol finally yanks it shut and pulls the blinds down. 

“What’s gotten into you Seungcheol?” Jihoon’s voice is little more than a croak, but Seungcheol’s head whips around so fast in response that Jihoon thinks he might hear something _crack_.

“I might like to ask _you_ the same question.” He grits out, face turning a dangerous red.

“Me?” Jihoon gasps, “I’m not the one who just barged in here and started _attacking_ the window cleaner. That was you. And I hope you’re happy, your silly antics officially derailed the plans for my epic love story.”

Seungcheol rounds on him, looking ever so slightly betrayed. “Epic _love_ story?” He echoes. He seems to be aiming for impassive, but Jihoon can hear definite undertones of vague horror.

“That’s right.” Jihoon shoots back, tilting his chin up defiantly, “Mingyu will be playing a crucial role in it. Or at least, I _hope_ he’ll still be open to the idea after you _chased_ him away.”

Seungcheol’s mouth pulls into a hard, uncompromising line, Jihoon’s uniquely familiar with. 

“Well I don’t like you talking to him.” He grunts. Then he seems to register how crazy and possessive that sounds, and draws in on himself. Jihoon can practically _see_ the spikes emerging as he takes a step back and shoves his hands into his pockets, closing his armor around him. “He’s clearly a—a menace. And a bad influence on you.”

Jihoon has no idea what to say to that for a moment. He’s got no idea _what_ Seungcheol thinks Mingyu’s influencing him into doing exactly, but the suggestion Jihoon’s susceptible to it at all is pretty damn condescending.

Yeah, he’s smaller than the average male and gets ID’d more than anyone else he knows, and yeah, he may occasionally get stopped by well-meaning people asking if he’s lost and would he like help finding his way home, and yes, okay—he’s never had to pay for a full price ticket in the cinema before, but despite all that—he’s not a kid!

“Well you don’t _get_ a say in who I do or don’t talk to.” Jihoon tells him firmly.

Seungcheol gawps, silent and disbelieving, like he would never in a million years expected Jihoon to say ‘no’ to him. Jihoon feels strangely vindicated at having managed to surprise him. It feels good to rattle Seungcheol’s cage every now and then.

“But—but I’m your _boss_.” Seungcheol says at last, an eon of gawping later.

Now, Jihoon would never accuse Seungcheol of whining, per se, but Seungcheol _does_ get a lilt to his voice sometimes that's the young, feckless CEO version of whining. It's something he only seems to show to Jihoon, and in all honestly Jihoon isn’t overly flattered by this.

He crosses his arms and levels Seungcheol his best disapproving look, “Are you? Because right now you’re not _acting_ like my boss. You’re acting like a big grumpy baby.”

Seungcheol scowls and huffs and turns a little red in the face.

He looks like he has something more to say—some damning question on the tip of his tongue—but in the end he must decide against it, and Jihoon stares in renewed bafflement as he just storms over to his desk, grumbling under his breath about getting the windows glued shut.

* * *

Jihoon's dating ridiculousness is getting a bit out of hand, in Seungcheol’s opinion.

Especially when all week Seungcheol’s been arriving at his office to find one _'satisfied'_ employee or another on their way out the door. So many new faces he loses track of the final tally, even when he's specifically trying to count. Everyone from interns to desk clerks to even his financial manager, Wonwoo, at one point. Not to conduct business with him though—no, but to see Jihoon. _His_ PA.

 _His_.

Sure enough, there’s another visitor today, Seungcheol can just make out bits and pieces of the conversation as he walks down the corridor. 

“This is so sweet of you Jin-ho, but you really didn’t have to get me flowers. It was my pleasure to help.”

‘Jin-ho’ or whatever, snorts dismissively, “Of course, I did. And believe you me, the pleasure was all mine. Last night was _amazing_. My dry spell is well and truly a thing of the past.”

Seungcheol takes a hard stop just in front of his office door when he hears that. Because he’s pretty sure that sounded like…..

_No._

_No way._

Seungcheol doesn’t like being unsure about things. It’s not fun. But there’s only so many times you could be presented with an incriminating piece of evidence that suggests your PA is the office bike, and blithely dismiss it as ‘coincidence’.

Head tilted and eyebrows furrowed, he inches towards the half-closed door, where the rumble of quiet laughter has his frown set firmly in place.

“Well, uhm—I’m really glad to hear that Jin-ho. Glad you had fun. And since the date went so well, do you think there’s potential there for something long term?”

“Oh no— _hell_ no.” Jin-ho’s contemptuous laugh is nasally and revolting. It heats up Seungcheol’s skin, makes him want to punch his fist through a wall.

Even more so as the man proceeds to explain himself.

“I _probably_ should have been upfront with you from the beginning Jihoon, about not wanting a long-term commitment. But it’s so hard to get any action when you work the hours I do, and I can’t see myself being with anyone right now, regardless of how good they are in the sack. But—don’t be _sad_ , I’ll be recommending your services to all my friends.” He drawls, so crude and slimy Seungcheol mentally adds him to the hit list he’s building in his head. The list of people he’s going to punch in the fucking face.

Jihoon is quiet again for a little while, crying probably. Poor, sweet little roasted peanut that he is. But then, to Seungcheol’s horror, he says. “Thank you Jin-ho, that’s very flattering.” And— _what the actual fuck?_

He's just going along with that? Seriously?

Seungcheol’s heard quite enough at this point, and shoves the door open unceremoniously. “If you’re quite finished here, I would like to start work.”

Jin-ho, the devious _bastard_ , scurries out the door so fast Seungcheol is sure had the window been closer he would have taken that as an exit route instead. Just as well—as a moment longer in his company and Seungcheol would have helped him out the window himself.

Jihoon watches him leave, blinking, then looks over at Seungcheol, a tiny line forming between his eyebrows.

“Seungcheol, is—is everything _okay_?”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches as he sharply shakes his head. Embarrassment and a very fiery emotion burning hot in his veins. 

It’s not anger. He has no _right_ to be angry—no standing for possessiveness—and he sure as hell doesn't get a say in whose bed Jihoon shares. But he hurts. Somewhere deep and private and shameful, he aches to make a different decision than the one his responsibilities require.

“No, actually—everything is _not_ okay, I really don’t think—” He cuts himself off abruptly when he feels Jihoon’s hand touch his shoulder. 

The touch is soft, kind, like a man trying to gentle a feral animal. It slides neatly under Seungcheol's iron control, and something clenches deep inside his heart.

“Never mind.” He finishes with a sigh, trudging back to his desk.

It’s really none of his business what Jihoon gets up to in his own time. If he really _did_ sleep with that dork, well—that’s his choice. All the more power to him. And if this guy really is going to ‘recommend’ Jihoon to all his friends, it doesn’t actually mean Jihoon’s going to go along with it.

Jihoon is still his tiny peanut. A hardworking, reliable PA, that wears the cutest little sweater vests and rescues spiders and walks little old ladies across the road, and guys like that don't go around screwing all their co-workers.

It’ll never happen.

* * *

Jin-ho must have stayed true to his word and then some, because two days after his visit to Seungcheol’s office, there’s an influx of emails in Jihoon’s inbox about his Matchmaking service and he has to spend his _entire_ lunch hour sorting through them.

Some of them are very heartfelt; sweet messages from hopeless romantics about their slow-burning love stories that have yet to see the light of day; while the _rest_ are short, to the point, unsubtle requests for hook-ups.

Actually—the _majority_ of the emails are from colleagues just looking for casual sex.

It’s a little infuriating, if he’s being honest.

Jihoon’s really a romantic at heart—a ‘love conquers all’ kind of guy. He adores the ideas of helping people find love—really believes that there’s the right person out there for everyone, regardless of any apparent appearance or personality flaws. Everyone deserves a chance at happiness in his books, and if he can help them along the way to finding their soulmate, he’ll do his level best.

But he’s not a fucking _pimp_ , okay. Or some kind of brothel _Madam_. He thinks it should be important to make that distinction, because what more than half these emails are asking him to do is organise some commitment free, no strings attached, one-night-only bumming sessions. Which _really_ isn’t what his matchmaking talents should be used for, thank you very much.

It’s not that Jihoon doesn’t enjoy sex or accept that it’s a part of the dating scene, it’s more that he doesn’t understand how people can treat it so…. _casually_.

He’s only ever slept with people he truly wanted to be with, and try as he might, he’s never been able to untangle the act enough from his heart to let it be simple, straightforward fun. He can’t turn off his stubborn and noisy brain and just have a good time—at least not when it comes to waking up in someone else’s bed and wondering what happens next.

Where most people would be content with one night of fun—happy enough to go their separate ways the morning after and never see each other again if it came to it—he just _can’t_ do that. He’d conceded long ago that casual sex wasn’t in his constitution. He simply isn’t wired that way, no matter how much he might wish otherwise.

“Aren’t you going to have your lunch?”

Jihoon lifts his head, finds Seungcheol standing over him with his arms crossed. 

“Not today. I have to reply to these emails.” He says, scrolling through another email half-heartedly.

It’s much of the same, another request to arrange a casual hook-up—except the sender isn’t even trying to be indirect about it, and has even written _‘I NEED SEX ASAP’_ in the subject line.

Jihoon frowns in irritation and clicks the reply button, preparing himself to write a polite but pointed refusal in response, when he realises Seungcheol is leaning over his shoulder, _reading_ the fucking email.

“Hey, that’s private!” Jihoon yelps, scrambling to dim his screen before Seungcheol can get a proper look.

Seungcheol straightens up with an explosive huff, as though the very notion of privacy were the most unreasonable thing he’s ever heard of.

He doesn’t quite stomp on his way back to his desk, but he looks like he’d very much like to.

With his boss now safely on the other side of the room, Jihoon turns the monitor back on again and quickly replies to the email.

_‘Thank you for your interest in my Matchmaking service. But I’m afraid I will have to decline your request on this occasion as I won’t be able to find you a suitable match for the criteria you specified. Have you considered trying a brothel?_

_Kind regards,_

_Lee Jihoon.’_

Then he copies and pastes the paragraph into the next thirty or so emails with the same variation of _‘I NEED SEX ASAP’_

Honestly, this is….This is no fun at all. And by the look of the emails still filing into his inbox at a steady clip, it’s not _going_ to get fun anytime soon. This isn’t what he signed up for. He doesn’t know what Jin-ho's told everyone, and he hates letting people down—but this is definitely _not what he signed up for_.

It takes a few minutes of strategizing to come up with a plan, and when he finally hits on the solution, he has to wonder why he never thought of it before. 

Pie.

_Everyone loves pie, right?_

* * *

If Seungcheol had to pick a word to describe his day thus far, he would have chosen "abysmal," although "infuriating" is a close second.

“Run the numbers again.” He demands, dropping the dossier on the table with a heavy slap.

Wonwoo exchanges a weary look with the man seated next to him, then sighs, “The numbers are sound Mr Choi. I’ve triple checked them. The economy is still technically in a recession, and if we’re not ready to compromise on quality—”

Seungcheol interrupts him with an impatient noise. “Not _our_ numbers— _their_ numbers. There’s no way Ssangyong engineering can pull this off. If they’re outbidding us, they’re lying through their teeth.”

“Their architectural budget _does_ seem a little _low_.” Jeonghan pipes in helpfully, which is the first mildly conciliatory thing he’s said all meeting long.

Seungcheol appreciates that a big part of his job is to push Seungcheol where others fear to tread, but sometimes Jeonghan enters a super-ultra-deluxe contrary mode, to the point that Seungcheol's sure if he said "white" Jeonghan would fire back "black," purely for the sake of being impossible.

“What are you suggesting?” Seungcheol asks.

Leaning back in his seat, Jeonghan rests his elbows on the arms and steeples his fingers thoughtfully, “There’s a big possibility they’re using an older design and hoping nobody will notice when they make revisions. That would certainly shave off a considerate amount of money from their initial budget outlook.”

Seungcheol arches an eyebrow, reluctantly impressed.

They’ve been throwing the same ideas back and forth for the past two hours and this is the first angle they _haven’t_ considered. And yeah, it’s going to be difficult to prove and not necessarily going to win them their contract back, but he needs to convince himself this is progress.

“If that’s the case, we need to find out. You’re the best financial advisor in the business Wonwoo, get it done. I refuse to be outbid by some amateur.”

Invoking Wonwoo’s all-hallowed professionalism seems to shore him up the way Seungcheol hoped it would. He watches Wonwoo’s shoulders straighten minutely, watches as the concern creasing Wonwoo’s brow smooths out and his eyes darken in that way that says there are variables spinning themselves into equations in his head. 

In the next minute, they have all their research dossiers laid open on the conference table, dissecting their competitors budget. 

Unfortunately, for all that Seungcheol would prefer not to leave the room at all—there are certain biological needs that even one of the most powerful businessmen in the world can’t ignore. 

Jeonghan gives him a quizzical look and quirks an eyebrow when Seungcheol stands. “Off to check on your little ‘ _Peanut’_? I do know how stressed you get when he’s out of your sight for more than five minutes.”

“ _No_ ,” Seungcheol says briskly. “I’m going to the bathroom. I need to piss like a racehorse.”

“Charming.” Jeonghan drawls, and Seungcheol makes sure to cuff the back of his head as he walks to the door.

He knows there’s a men’s restroom at the farthest end of the hall—not quite close enough to be described as convenient, but not so far as to constitute a hassle.

He takes care of business with hurried impatience—anxious to return despite the firm, practical knowledge that he has nothing useful to contribute until they run the numbers again. He has just finished washing his hands—is reaching for a paper towel from the dispenser beside the sink—when he hears voices approaching from the hall. For some reason, instead of ignoring them and moving for the door, Seungcheol finds himself moving further into the bathroom, moving quickly toward the farthest stall opposite the mirror. 

He steps into the stall, closes the door and locks it, and edges as far back as he’s physically able just as the door from the hall swings open on well-oiled hinges. From the way the voices carry on, they either haven’t noticed him or can’t see him.

“—it was craziest orgy I’ve ever been part of. He just spread it out on the table, and we all gathered round to take turns and helped ourselves. It was shockingly good.” says a low, gravelly baritone.

“Woah, what was the occasion?” a higher voice answers, sleek and tenor and obviously amused. 

“Honestly, I don’t think there _was_ one.” The baritone voice laughs shortly, and his words are accompanied by the snickt of a zipper and a quiet stream as one of the men makes use of a urinal near the door. “When I walked into the room, Jihoon was by the desk, surrounded by a bunch of people and he just said— _hey, you want to eat my pie?_ And I was like— _hell yeah._ How could I resist?”

The peculiar choice of words and the mention of Jihoon’s name, set of a tight, unpleasant concern low in Seungcheol’s gut.

_Orgy?_

_Jihoon??_

_Pie???_

The thought jangles in Seungcheol’s head like a bad note. He tries to shake it out and let common sense prevail. Too much Japanese porn, most likely. There is no earthly way Jihoon would instigate an office place orgy.

_Or would he?_

A month ago, such a suggestion would have been dismissed easily. But that would have been _before_ the disturbing phone calls and private emails and mysterious ‘Thank you’ gifts that keep appearing on Jihoon’s desk. A month ago, the idea of Jihoon in the middle of an office-place orgy would have been laughable at best, but Seungcheol’s recently been led to believe his little peanut is not as innocent as he seems.

So taking that knowledge into account, Jihoon’s pie must mean……

_Oh God!_

Seungcheol's knees suddenly feel a little weak, and he slumps down onto the toilet seat as the voices outside the stall continue in their exchange.

“Hold on a sec—where was _I_ when all this was happening?” One of the men asks. 

“I don’t know man, I just got a memo that said come down to the 12th floor for a surprise, and when I got there, the entire floor was gathered in the conference room eating Jihoon’s pie. Heck—even the _window_ cleaner stopped by to help himself to some.” Baritone drawls, and Seungcheol thinks he might seriously start projectile vomiting all over the place.

“What, really?” The second voice asks, mirroring Seungcheol’s shock if not his queasiness.

Baritone laughs. “Yeah, he ate it right there on the scaffold. Made a mess all over the windows when he was finished. Don’t blame him though, I totally made a mess of my pants when I was enjoying Jihoon’s pie. But it was worth the mess you know, even if I’m gonna have to get my pants dry cleaned.”

Seungcheol feels his face heat at the mental image his mind creates, even though he’s trying very, very hard not to listen, and not to think about it.

“I’m not really a pie guy, if I’m being honest.” He hears the second man announce quietly. 

Baritone huffs a laugh, “Suit yourself—” Seungcheol can practically hear the shrug accompanying the statement. He hears the man zip back up again, then footsteps heading roughly his direction, towards the row of sinks. There’s the rush of water, then the scrape of paper towels being pulled from the dispenser. “But I think you should reserve judgement till you have some of _Jihoon’s_ pie. His pie can’t be beat. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

The second voice makes a considering noise, “I feel weird about going up and just asking him for pie though.”

“Don’t be. Jihoon’s pretty generous. I’m sure by the end of the day, the whole building will have had enjoyed his sweet ass pie.” Baritone promises, implying Jihoon’s some kind of all-you-can-eat buffet.

Seungcheol clenches his fists, fighting the urge to kick the door down and go in shouting. But he knows it’s ultimately futile because gossip is the sole unstoppable force in the universe, and it's all the worse in a busy corporate office. People practically _live_ off other people’s dirty secrets here. Besides, he wouldn't interfere on anyone else's account, and he can't justify doing so simply because they happened to be discussing _Jihoon_.

What would he even say?

_Don’t you fucking dare talk about my little peanut like that!_

It would shut them up, sure, but how can he even _say_ that when it’s become increasingly apparent that the entire office, and every employee and temp, male or female, gay or straight, has had some of Jihoon’s ‘Pie’.

In all honesty, Seungcheol isn't sure he’s in a position to defend _anyone’s_ honour here.

He waits several moments after he hears the swish and click of the bathroom door. He watches as seconds, then minutes tick by on his watch, and finally steps out of the stall. He catches a glimpse of his own face in the otherwise empty line of mirrors, and takes a moment to school his expression so that the perturbed wariness is masked beneath his most inscrutable look. 

It’s the face he wears for board meetings, poker games and press conferences, and it should be enough to let him pass through the halls without raising unnecessary alarm.

He's halfway down the corridor, heading back towards the conference room, when he meets Jeonghan coming in the opposite direction.

“I have to make a call—” Jeonghan starts to explain, then hesitates at whatever expression is on Seungcheol’s face. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Seungcheol thinks of lying—of saying nothing at all, but now the idea that he could ever just stand back and let this happen strikes him as quaintly naive. He tries to think of a subtle way of putting it, before remembering that it's _Jeonghan_ and subtle is unnecessary.

 _Somehow_ , he makes his voice come out steady. “I’ve just been privy to the most disturbing conversation I’ve ever heard. Apparently Jihoon’s been…”

He trails off, making a series of hand gestures than manage to beautifully convey _none_ of what he intends them to.

 _Goddammit_.

Hand gestures are just too vague to explain all this _madness_ he’s just bear witnessed too. Eventually he just has to put it in words, albeit in a hushed voice. “Apparently Jihoon’s letting everyone eat his _pie_ in one of the conference rooms on the 12th floor.”

Silence greets this statement. And when Seungcheol lifts his head, ready to brave any number of dramatic reactions, he finds Jeonghan watching him patiently. As though waiting for the other shoe to drop. As though what Seungcheol has said isn't momentous enough and there must be more revelation to come.

"Would you fucking _say something_?" Seungcheol demands finally, irritated and self-conscious.

Jeonghan continues to stare blankly back at him, frustratingly unperturbed. “I already knew that.”

“You _knew_?” Seungcheol asks, utterly horrified. Even more so when Jeonghan makes a low, almost dirty sound of agreement in his throat and says, “Well, _yeah_ —I’m guilty of having some of his pie myself.”

“You what?” Seungcheol chokes out.

He is, for the umpteenth time, appalled by Jeonghan’s lack of business sense and deeply unsettled by his luck. Not that he’s jealous or anything. Seungcheol doesn’t do jealous. Jealous is for people who don’t make as much money as he does.

What he is, is _disappointed_.

Yeah, that's it. Disappointed. Which is like, completely on the opposite side of the emotion spectrum to jealousy. 

“How did you… _When did this happen_?”

“Just this morning when he stopped by my office to deliver some documents. Then again at lunch. I know—I know, I went back for second helpings. Guilty as charged. But Jihoon _did_ offer and there’s nothing quite like _Jihoon’s pie_.” Jeonghan purrs, the way someone else might say sixteen-ounce ribeye or hot fudge sundae, like he can still _taste_ him.

Seungcheol would really like to believe that he’s hallucinating this entire conversation. But even if he _is_ , he knows he hasn’t been imagining the events that led up to it.

He starts flushing again and tries to will his mind out of conjuring a mental image of what Jeonghan is probably talking about. But try as he might, he can’t suppress the sudden, unwelcome flash of Jihoon spread out on Jeonghan’s desk, getting all dirty and acrobatic. It’s an awful tableau, it’s the worst—until the scene begins to transform in his head, Jeonghan’s desk fading out, Seungcheol’s desk fading in, until _he’s_ the one nestled between Jihoon’s thighs eating his pie, and arousal hits him like a punch in the gut.

Not that he even knows what Jihoon’s pie looks like—not that he _wants_ to know...

“Have you no _shame_ Jeonghan?” Seungcheol asks aloud, perhaps a bit too venomously. He may be trying to distract himself. “You’re the Vice CEO Jeonghan, can’t you control yourself?” 

Jeonghan doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed.

“Oh, _please_ Seungcheol, like _you’ve_ not eaten his pie.” He says, raising his chin, like he doesn't expect to be wrong.

“I have _not_.” Seungcheol croaks. “I’ve never _touched_ his pie. He’s my PA, it would be inappropriate and unprofessional and….and he’s never offered.”

Jeonghan barks out a laugh. “Ah—so _that’s_ why you’re angry. Everyone’s eating Jihoon’s pie, and you haven’t been invited to join in.” He clucks his tongue in quiet amusement. “I imagine a guy like you Seungcheol—it must really _bother_ you that you didn’t get the first taste, huh.”

Seungcheol's voice is stuck somewhere low in his throat. He feels trapped and called out, even though there's no hint of accusation or smugness in Jeonghan's voice. He’s pleased as hell and clearly not trying to hide it, but there's something almost conspiratorial in his smile. Like a shared secret rather than wry judgment.

It still makes Seungcheol feel guilty as fuck though. He never expected to be so laughably transparent.

“You know what, fuck off,” He snarls, shoving past Jeonghan. 

* * *

Seungcheol spends the rest of the afternoon following "the pie revelation" pretending he is utterly unfazed by it.

It’s easy at first when he has plenty of reasons to avoid returning to his office and thus, Jihoon’s company, but it becomes something of a challenge with the entire building buzzing over Jihoon's _‘sweet ass pie’._

 _Whatever,_ Seungcheol tells himself. Over and over again. _It’s none of my business_.

In the evening, when denial and avoidance has clearly failed as a strategy, he switches to being pissed off at Jihoon.

 _How dare he slut himself out like that—_ He stomps around the car park, nursing his outrage with truisms about misconduct and half a pack of cigarettes. In less guarded moments, though, his invective tends to run in the opposite direction, and he finds himself glaring murderously at anyone who so much as _mentions_ the word ‘pie’.

By the time the end of his day rolls around, he’s smoked his way through two packs of cigarettes, paced the entire lobby a hundred times over and eyeballed so many employees, he’s pretty sure Jisoo’s planning some kind of intervention on his behalf.

Possibly one with _straitjackets_.

Seungcheol ignores his curious questions and concerned looks and heads back up to his office. He’s planning on collecting his things and heading home to smoke and glare at things there instead, except when he exits the elevator and storms down the corridor, the room isn’t empty.

The door to his office is standing ajar, and through the gap he can just make out what appears to be Jihoon, making emphatic gestures with his hands. And to the left of him, leaning out of the open window, a much taller figure—

 _“Motherfucker_ —” Seungcheol hisses his teeth, and the anger that overtakes him is fresh and clean.

He’s already shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as he closes the distance, ready to wrestle Mingyu out the window and away from Jihoon’s pie once and for all.

Even though they don’t seem to be doing anything overtly sexual right now, that doesn’t mean they _haven’t_ –or weren’t planning on it in the very near future. And in his office _too_?

God, Seungcheol’s going to wrestle Mingyu down 36 stories just out of principle. 

But Jihoon and Mingyu are so deeply engrossed in their conversation, they don't seem to notice his approach, and Seungcheol manages to catch the tail end of their conversation.

“—guess I just wanted some feedback. Or at least to know you guys had fun.”

Seungcheol hesitates outside the door, stomach flipping as he listens to Jihoon’s anxious voice waft through the space, listening to Mingyu’s annoyingly familiar voice answer, “Sure we did Jihoonie, _lots_ of fun.”

But then his stomach drops completely when he hears the next sentence to leave Mingyu’s lips. “The sex was mind blowing. Ten out of ten—would fuck again. _But_ —I have to be honest with you, there wasn’t really a _spark_ there.”

“Oh.” Jihoon answers, with a tone of dismayed resignation.

“Yeah, sorry—” Mingyu heaves a put-upon sigh and rolls his shoulders, a tired gesture and—probably not a coincidence—one that buys him several seconds before speaking. “I guess sometimes people _feel_ things at a distance, and then when they act on those feelings, they realise they just enjoyed the idea of the fantasy, not the actual reality of the experience. You know what I mean?”

“I guess.” Jihoon answers with remarkable nonchalance, but if Seungcheol’s not mistaken, there’s a hint of strain underneath—a quiet sadness. “Sorry if I pressured you into anything Mingyu, I didn’t mean to.”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head, “Hey, no—you didn’t pressure me. I wouldn’t have gone along with it had I not been interested. But I mean—if you _want_ to make it up to me, I sure could go for some more of your delicious pie.”

That, right there, deserves a slap in the face as far as Seungcheol’s concerned. Or a kick in the balls. Or at the very least, a disgusted look and an emphatic _‘Get out! I never want to see you again’_. Except Jihoon does none of those things. He just giggles adorably and says “Sure thing Mingyu” and the world as Seungcheol understands it spins dizzily away from him.

He can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe they’re having this conversation at all, let alone right in front of his face, in _his_ office. He can’t believe Jihoon’s just going to let Mingyu eat his Pie again. That they’re going to…

“That’s it!” Seungcheol snarls, kicking the door the rest of the way open. “I’ve had enough of this shit.”

Jihoon’s eyes flash comically wide, while Mingyu raises his hands in a protestation of innocence,

“Okay—that’s my cue to leave. Seeya around Jihoonie.” Mingyu says, making a beeline for the open window.

He’s half-way out when Seungcheol catches up with him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and dragging back into the office.

“Not so fast pervert!” Seungcheol growls, pulling him into a headlock before he can slip away.

As solutions go, it’s perhaps a little extreme, but Mingyu’s proven himself to be a crafty giant shit, and Seungcheol’s determined not to have a repeat of their mad little chase around the desk again. 

“Woah—woah, dude. What the hell.” Mingyu makes a series of noises rather like a panicked bird of some kind, flailing wildly as he tries to escape Seungcheol’s grasp. But Seungcheol just tightens his hold on his neck, content enough to keep squeezing until Mingyu turns blue in the face or his head pops off his shoulders.

Whatever comes first, he doesn’t care—that’s the kind of mood he’s in today.

“Seungcheol, please stop—you’re hurting him.” Jihoon cries out desperately.

Seungcheol forces himself to raise his head, to turn and look at his PA. He maintains a veneer of calm with the movement, quirking a single eyebrow as though in challenge. “That’s the plan.”

Jihoon blinks at him uncomprehendingly. He looks flummoxed. “But why? What’s Mingyu ever done to you?”

Seungcheol fixes him with a hard look, “He hasn’t done anything to me. But I refuse to just stand by and let this jackass take advantage of you Jihoon. He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near your pie. Nobody should!” Seungcheol protests, voice rising incredulously. He’s aware of how childish, how _petulant_ he sounds, but there is nothing that he can do about that right now.

Mingyu and Jihoon exchange a look, one that explicitly says Seungcheol is being irrational.

“But there’s plenty of my pie for _everyone_ to enjoy.” Jihoon murmurs. 

“Yeah man,” Mingyu cranes his neck to look up at him. “It’s his pie. If he wants to share it—he should be allowed to. Stop trying to hog all the lovely pie.”

Mingyu’s sharing far too many observations in Seungcheol’s opinion.

Far too many for a guy in a headlock.

He should probably _do_ something about that.

He tightens his grip until Mingyu’s turning red in the face, then breathes down the other man's neck, dark and dangerous, “You’re going to keep your greasy mitts off my little peanut’s precious pie, or I will break all your fingers. Got it?”

“Got it.” Mingyu croaks, offering a lame little thumbs up in answer.

After a long satisfying moment, Seungcheol releases his hold on him, watching as Mingyu stumbles back against the floor, gasping, “Jesus—have _serious_ anger issues my friend.”

Seungcheol just crosses his arms and stares him down. Then, after a quick glance in Jihoon’s direction, he reconsiders his stance and moves to stand in front of Jihoon, shielding him from view.

Mingyu frowns at him as he climbs to his feet, confused and angry and more than a little bit insulted. Then his expression seems to lighten somewhat, in surprise or perplexity, Seungcheol's not sure. Though he can practically see when the gears in Mingyu's brain lurch to a stop. When he _gets_ it.

“ _Oh_ —” Mingyu breathes, eyes darting over Seungcheol and where Jihoon’s huffing quietly behind him, probably trying to peek over his shoulder. Then he’s outright grinning, from ear to ear, “Aw—that’s the cutest shit I’ve seen all day.” He laughs, even as he edges toward the window and starts climbing back out. He stops with one foot resting on the scaffold and waggles a finger in Seungcheol’s direction, “You’re not the hard-ass you paint yourself to be man. I see through you. You should tell him you know.”

Seungcheol growls murderously under his breath and chases him the rest of the way out, yanking the window shut as Mingyu cackles. 

When he turns, he finds Jihoon standing right behind him, hands resting sternly on his hips.

Seungcheol has a moment to wonder if he’s about to get slapped across the face and told to mind his own business, except Jihoon just pokes a finger into his chest and pouts at him. 

“Seungcheol—that was really mean. You were really mean to Mingyu. Really, really mean.”

Seungcheol wants to laugh, because he’s pretty sure this is the angriest he’s ever seen Jihoon, and it’s not even _that_ angry. It’s adorable actually—like Jihoon can’t build up enough irritation in his petite body to be properly mad with anyone, so he just has to release it in these tiny bursts of exasperation.

It would be hilarious if Seungcheol was in the mood for a good chuckle. As it stands, he can only manage a dry, disbelieving snort.

“I don’t _care_ if it was mean Jihoon, it’s _justified_. Mingyu’s clearly a jerk and taking advantage of you, and I refuse to stand by and let him eat your pie whenever he wants and then just push you away—no. I won’t let it happen anymore. I can’t believe I have to tell you this but—your pie is….your pie is _special_ Jihoon. It should be treated with _respect_ —not bandied about like some kind of free-for-all buffet.” He practically growls with annoyance.

Jihoon just looks at him for a long, endless moment, watching his little meltdown with concerned interest. Then he whispers something so knowing—so _damning_ , Seungcheol loses all the air in his lungs in one go.

“You just want to keep my pie all for yourself, don’t you?”

Seungcheol shuts his eyes and forces air into grudging lungs—forces himself to _breathe_. When he opens them again, his jaw works for a moment, several protests on the tip of his tongue, but the only thing that comes out is the truth he’s known all along.

“Yeah, I do. I’ll admit it—I want your pie Jihoon. I want it just for myself.”

And instead of looking shocked or disgusted or any number of the disappointing expressions he expects, Jihoon just smiles at him, all dimples and twinkling eyes.

“I knew it, you’re so greedy Seungcheol. Can’t you share?”

Seungcheol's too stunned to respond to the first part of that sentence, so focuses on the second. His expression twists unhappily. “No, I cannot fucking _share_. Didn’t you hear what I said? Your pie should be _respected_ , and if I _had_ the opportunity to have your pie I would _treasure_ it—cherish it. I wouldn’t go around recommending it to my friends and inviting everyone to come _enjoy_ it. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

Jihoon stares at him, a quizzical look on his face. “Okay, you’ve lost me now. I’ll admit my pie is pretty great—but it’s not _that_ great.”

Seungcheol rubs a tired hand over his face because this conversation is not going the way he planned at _all_. Not that he planned much of a conversation beyond Mingyu’s ass kicking and scolding Jihoon to stop _sleeping_ with goddamn everyone. He feels futile, helpless, and yet perversely determined to see this through—to get his point across.

Sighing wearily, he takes Jihoon by the hand and guides him to sit by the low-lying couch under the window.

“Listen Jihoonie—I strongly believe in one person per pie, and _okay_ , I accept that maybe that’s just me showing my age, or maybe I’m just more of a traditionalist than I thought, but if you’re looking for something special, but you’re sharing you’re pie with everyone you meet, they’re going to get the wrong idea and you’ll never get that special connection you’re looking for. And you—you _deserve_ that special connection Jihoon. You deserve—nice things. So please—for the love of God, stop sharing your pie with everyone.”

It isn't the type of thing he normally would say; the image he'd crafted for himself doesn't work off of 'feelings'—it works off of practicality and restraint. But _dammit_ , feelings are all he has right now.

The look Jihoon gives him in turn is downright pitying, and Seungcheol feels flushed and warm all over. Warmer _still_ when Jihoon reaches over and rests a comforting hand over his.

“What if I told you I have a whole _other_ pie, just for you.”

Seungcheol blinks, caught completely off guard.

He’s silent for a moment, looking at their hands. Then he carefully extracts his from underneath Jihoon’s and says, gaping at him, “I’m sorry, what? Did you just say you have _two_ pies?”

“Not just two pies. _Multiple_ pies.” Jihoon whispers excitedly as he scoots closer. “I have multiple pies Seungcheol, and I saved the best one for you.”

Seungcheol can scarcely believe he’s heard that correctly. He eyes Jihoon cautiously, “Multiple pies? How… _how_ is that anatomically possible?”

“I guess you could say I have a really big oven.” Jihoon asserts with perfect seriousness.

Seungcheol flounders, mouth gaping, "Wh-what?"

“Do you want some of my pie now?” Jihoon says, with a surprisingly innocent expression on his face.

Seungcheol’s eyes pop open so wide it feels as if they're operated by springs. His heart hammers like it might beat right out of his chest. “Are you serious? You’re going to let me have your pie right now, here, in the office where anyone could just walk in?”

Jihoon’s eyes curve into a merry arch as he jumps up onto his feet, “Why not! Stay right there—one pie coming right up.”

“Uh—” Seungcheol begins, but trails off as Jihoon dashes off across the office and around the corner. He comes back a short while later, a plate in hand and laid neatly in the centre—is a slice of pie. The fruit layered on top is shockingly bright, like someone snagged it off of a magazine page, and the cream is so thick and decadent, heavily folded over the sugared crust in curves and swirls and folds of pale white.

“Here we are.” Jihoon holds out the plate, smiling with satisfaction that borders on smugness. “Hope you like it. Everyone says it’s really good.”

Seungcheol stares at the plate and runs his hands over the light stubble over his chin, realization hitting him. 

_Pie_ —He thinks numbly— _It’s actual, literal pie._

The relief is so intense that he isn't sure at first he can make himself speak.

Oh god, he can’t believe he’d got it so _wrong_. He feels stupid for what he now accepts is a massive over-reaction. Mostly embarrassed, but still _stupid_.

“Well don’t just stare at it!” Jihoon giggles, holding the plate out. “Have some. I added extra cream on yours, cause I _know_ you have a crazy sweet tooth.” He beams at him, a bright beacon of sincerity.

Seungcheol must continue to stare perhaps a little too long, because Jihoon makes a quiet impatient sound, takes hold of the spoon and starts digging into the pie. When he breaks the crust open, the warm smell of fruit and pastry drifts upwards and Seungcheol breathes in through his nose, quiet but audible in the room.

“Here—I’ll help you. Open up!” Jihoon cheers, then actually adds _sound effects_ as he zooms the spoon threw the air towards Seungcheol’s open mouth.

Seungcheol still too stupefied to do anything but seal his mouth around the spoon, and chew. And— _Jesus Christ_ —it’s delicious pie. So good he loses every word he means to say as soon as it hits his tongue. It’s probably some of the best he's ever tasted. He tries another mouthful to be absolutely sure. And no—no. THE best.

When Jihoon edges another piece on the spoon and holds it up, Seungcheol just opens his mouth, without thinking or second-guessing. And he doesn't feel foolish about it because Jihoon is smiling that soft, sweet smile of his again, the one that says he's actually _enjoying_ this, the way he enjoys using his ridiculously adorable stationery and signing off his emails with a billion emojis.

It's that same type of satisfied amusement, and Seungcheol knows that he wants to see it again, as often as possible. He thinks if he could see that smile every day, he might actually be a happy person instead of a bitter, grouchy asshole.

And that’s it, isn't it? Seungcheol has a sudden, sickening epiphany. It’s the sort of epiphany adults who have reached a normal emotional maturity would have reached ages ago. But Seungcheol, being who he is, an emotionally-stunted thirty-nine year old hot-shot CEO, is only realising it now.

He’s falling in love….with his PA.

He slouches in his chair, just completely shocked.

“That good, huh?” Jihoon asks brightly. His gaze is very intent and very unnerving.

 _Christ, why does he have to have such beautiful eyes_ —Seungcheol thinks, distracted.

“It’s…really good.” Seungcheol says around the third mouthful. “I knew your pie would be amazing.” He adds, and he coughs a little and wonders why he’s such an idiot.

“I’m so happy everyone enjoyed it.” Jihoon giggles, bouncing a little as he drops down into the space next to him. **“** Hopefully it will soothe all the feathers my email with surely ruffle.”

Seungcheol’s so busy wondering just how inappropriate and ultimately _career ending_ it would be to just pull Jihoon onto his lap, that it takes a moment for that sentence to sink in.

When it does, it doesn’t resonate as significant, but he’s still compelled to ask, “Hold on—what email?”

The expression on Jihoon’s face shifts to profoundly uncomfortable as he flushes pink and hangs his head. 

“I had to send out an email to everyone saying I won’t be running my matchmaking service anymore, and I figured it would upset some people.” He admits, staring down at his hands. “So I made pie for everyone, hoping it cheer them up. I’m sure I’ll still have some disappointed clients, but—it was all getting a bit too much for me. I enjoyed being the middle-man for a while, but I was beginning to feel like people were just using my help to score booty calls, and that’s not what I was aiming for. I’m a romantic at heart, and I just wanted people to find love.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, then a flush creeps up his neck, and he drops his voice. “Guess that was just a silly fanciful notion.”

Seungcheol does everything in his power not to let his mouth fall open.

_Match-making service?_

Jihoon’s been running a match-making service? This whole time? _That’s_ what this has all been about?

Of course, it is—because Seungcheol’s life is obviously a cruel parody of a romantic comedy.

He’s still surprised, still slack jawed with the realisation, that when Jihoon attempts to feed him the next spoonful of pie he chokes and sputters.

“Careful—” Jihoon says, grinning, and comes to the rescue, grabbing a handful of tissues off the table. “You don’t want to drop any. Some guy dropped a piece and made a mess all over his pants earlier.”

Seungcheol’s lips twitch before widening into a proper smile; the expression feels odd on his face, stiff from disuse. He hasn’t much reason to smile lately, but now as the dark cloud plaguing his thoughts clears, he can’t help but smile at Jihoon, soft and fond.

 _I can’t believe I ever thought you were the office bike_ —he thinks, as Jihoon cuts off another piece of pie with the edge of the spoon, and slides it into his mouth.

This is probably the moment where Seungcheol should thank Jihoon for spoon-feeding him, accept the plate and begin feeding himself. Because, _you know_ , he’s a grown man, and it’s definitely not in Jihoon’s job description to be feeding him pie while he still has full use of his own hands. Except Seungcheol officially doesn’t give a shit about what he should _probably_ do anymore. He’s earned a little attention, he thinks—having kept his head on reasonably straight during Jihoon’s fictional sexcapades in the office.

So instead of objecting to the next spoonful of pie Jihoon ‘Choo-Choo’s’ his way, he leans back in his seat, gradually turning glassy eyed and happy.

“Who taught you how to bake?” He asks, chewing thoughtfully,

“My mummy.” Jihoon chirps. Then a pretty pink blush wisps over his cheeks and he ducks his head. “I mean—my _mother_.” Twirling the spoon idly, he breaks off another piece of pie and he holds it up for Seungcheol to eat, before adding, “I’ve also picked up some skills from my housemate. He’s a professional chef, and he’s a really good teacher. But his dishes are really fancy and foreign, and sometimes when I’m craving some Kimchichigae or Bulgogi, nothing beats my mum’s recipes.”

“Ah—” Seungcheol sighs wistfully. “Classic Home-cooking.”

The little smile that’s been curving Jihoon’s lips disappears. He lets out a slow breath and rubs the back of his neck. For a moment, Seungcheol worries that he’s offended him, until Jihoon finally lifts his head and says, “You probably haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in ages, have you?”

The change in topic is abrupt, and Seungcheol blinks several times before his brain catches up and processes the question.

“Ah, well—I’m not much of a cook, and by the time I get home I’m pretty beat so I just order in. My grandmother was a great traditional cook though—she used to feed me and my brother all the traditional recipes every-time we visited.”

Jihoon tilts his head, considering Seungcheol sadly. “Aw. You poor thing.”

“No, no—I’m really not.” Seungcheol huffs, barely able to keep the smile off his face.

Jihoon pauses, with just half the spoon dug in. “But you must miss it, right? Wouldn’t you like to have some Japchae, or some Yukgaejang?”

“Oh, yeah—that was my favourite.” Seungcheol grins at the memory. Then wrinkles his nose at a more recent memory of trying to poach an egg. “But uh—I would just botch the recipe. I’m very culinarily incapable.”

Jihoon smiles up at him, soft and sweet. “Then I will make it for you.”

“Oh no—" Seungcheol begins to protests, "You don’t have to-.”

“Yes, I do. I want to.” Jihoon interjects softly, and the sincerity in his eyes makes it impossible to look away. “I will make you a big batches of Yukgaejang and Japchae and Kimchi-jjigae, and you can take them home and store them in your freezer, and when you’re craving some all you have to do is re-heat it and make some—oh my god, please tell me you at _least_ know how to make _rice_?”

Seungcheol ducks his head shamefully. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Jihoon claps a hand over his mouth, “Aw—you can’t even cook rice.” And there’s _that_ look in his eyes again and Seungcheol realizes he had mistaken it – maybe seeing only what he wanted to see. There is pity there, yes, but also… Jihoon is looking at him almost _fondly_.

Seungcheol abruptly feels warm all over and he shakes his head, turning to the side to put more comfortable distance between them. The urge to flee, to find some sort of sanctuary and hide himself away is surprisingly strong. Seungcheol forces it back, his expression a neutral blank.

“I feel like I’m being unfairly judged here. Maybe I can’t cook for myself, but I can do _other_ things. I dress myself in the mornings, and I can drive, _and_ I run a billion-dollar corporation pretty damn successfully.” Seungcheol huffs.

Which are all very good, sound arguments that Jihoon immediately tramples all over by spoon-feeding him the last piece of pie and cooing, “Aw—you’re such a big boy, yes you are,” and suddenly Seungcheol is back to feeling like an overgrown toddler in a high chair. 

Jihoon even pulls out a handkerchief dotted with little penguins, to dab at his mouth, and Seungcheol is tempted to stick his tongue out at this show of fussiness. But Seungcheol is a professional and professionals do not stick their tongues out, even if they very much wanted to.

Instead, Seungcheol straightens his tie and says, “If you’re done patronising me, I’m going to get back to work.”

“I wouldn’t dream of patronising you.” Jihoon coos, doing a poor job of masking his amusement. Especially as he reaches up to pat Seungcheol patronizingly atop the head. “And so what if you can’t make rice—it’s no big deal. It just means you’ll have to come to my home for dinner so I can cook you a nice home-cooked meal.”

Seungcheol's opens his mouth to say no. He's totally, totally going to say no.

Which is why it's inexplicable, when he blurts out. “Alright.” Because, why not? He’s never been invited over to an employee’s house for dinner before—not that he was ever likely to accept. But Jihoon’s different, he accepted that long ago. And he’s already crossed more lines with Jihoon than he ever normally does, so what’s the harm in having dinner at his?

“Or I could. Wait…….you’ll, you’ll actually come for dinner?” Jihoon stutters when he realizes that Seungcheol has agreed. Unexpectedly it seems. Because he looks so _baffled_ that Seungcheol starts to feel a sense of discomfort bordering on panic. Panic so all-encompassing that he thinks the pie he’s just enjoyed might make an abrupt reappearance.

What if that wasn’t a real invitation? What if it was just one of those throwaway gestures people make, inviting their boss to dinner and hoping to God they’d never accept?

“Was your invitation not genuine?” Seungcheol broaches cautiously.

Jihoon’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a long minute. Then quietly, almost under his breath, he says, “It _was_ ….I just….I never thought you’d accept.”

Seungcheol laughs, a startled burst, because that is certainly true. “Normally I wouldn’t, not that anyone has ever _offered_ before,” He scrapes his fingertips against the grain of his stubble, embarrassed. “But I guess you’re not just anybody—"

“OH MY GOD!” Jihoon interrupts with a squeal, abruptly snapping out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. 

His outburst almost sends Seungcheol tumbling off the couch side-ways, but he catches himself quickly, and just in time to see Jihoon jump up onto his feet and squeal some more. “MY BOSS IS COMING FOR DINNER!”

It’s not terrified squealing—as far as Seungcheol can tell. Even though Jihoon’s eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are tightly fisted and he’s making noises only _dogs_ should be able to hear, he seems…. _happy_?

Like—really happy. Maybe _too_ happy?

_Oh shit._

“Will you calm down before you—” Seungcheol manages to say, before there’s that tell-tale stiffness to Jihoon’s body and then he’s tipping sideways and Seungcheol’s practically throwing himself across the room to catch him as he passes out.

* * *

It’s a good thing Jihoon’s a little guy, because these ‘happy’ fainting episodes would be a lot more bothersome if his weight was dragging Seungcheol down to the ground with him. As it stands, he’s light enough to hoist up into a bridal carry effortlessly—and when Seungcheol lays him down on the couch, he curls into a cute little ball on his side.

Caught by a swell of feelings with no outlet, and by the speeding surge of his heartbeat, Seungcheol reaches out to tuck back a few blonde fly-away hairs. He isn't quite stupid enough to touch Jihoon anywhere else, but damn if he’s tempted.

Instead, he catches his lower lip between his teeth and shifts his hungry gaze to stare out the window at the darkening skyline.

When Jihoon stirs a handful of minutes later, he takes a seat on the edge of the couch and finally allows himself to look again. There’s a slow stretch as Jihoon uncurls, a quiet grunt as he turns his head on the arm of the couch, and then a single fumbling hand scrubs at his face as sleepy eyes blink open. The disoriented, squinting expression is enough to draw Seungcheol's mouth into a fond smile.

“You okay Peanut?”

There’s a moment of startled stillness as Jihoon’s eyes lock with his, but the confusion fades from his gorgeous blue eyes not a second later.

“Oh..s _orry_.” He bites his lip, embarrassed. “Guess I got a little carried away with my excitement again.”

Seungcheol chuckles, the sound warm with affection. “It’s fine Peanut. It’s my fault really, I obviously should stop saying things that make you happy.”

Jihoon gives a wry snort, but there's a hint of smile on his face as he rubs at his eyes again. With a sleepy wobble, he moves to sit upright, only to stop half-way and level Seungcheol with an anxious look.

“You’ll—you’ll still come for dinner, right?”

The corners of Seungcheol's mouth twitch upward. “Of course.”

Jihoon’s expression brightens, as if his very happiness depended on that answer.

“I—I promise you’ll like the food. And my housemate Seokmin’s really, really nice. I think you’ll like him.” He says, his nose turning pink even as he smiles.

Seungcheol suspects he’s trying to convince himself of something, in his own special way, or trying to convince Seungcheol. He thinks about reminding Jihoon that he's already agreed. But maybe Jihoon's brain is like a slinky that just _has_ to get to the bottom of the stairs.

“I look forward to it.” Seungcheol says sincerely, though he’s never expressed the desire to meet someone’s housemate before in his _life_.

Then, without thinking about it, he reaches out and curls his hand on the back Jihoon's neck. Strokes his thumb along the cool skin of Jihoon's throat, just behind his jaw. It feels a little weird doing that, a little _too_ intimate for an employer-employee relationship—but it feels right too, especially when Jihoon closes his eyes for a second and seems to just soak it in.

The burst of affection in Seungcheol's chest nearly overwhelms him, as does the knowledge that he’s perilously close to crossing a line here.

Before he can second guess himself though, there’s a quiet knock on the door and someone clears their throat, and they both whip their heads to the side to find Jeonghan watching them from the doorway.

“Am I interrupting?” Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, looking mildly entertained.

Blushing, Jihoon quickly pushes himself into a sitting position, while Seungcheol eases back so they're not crowding each other's space.

They're still touching, but it's a glancing sort of contact. Jihoon's knee against his thigh. The back of his wrist against Jihoon's shoulder when Seungcheol lays one arm across the back of the couch and turns to face Jeonghan.

“What do you want?” Seungcheol asks, trying not to sound defensive. 

Jeonghan leans his hip against a nearby table, his arms crossed across his chest. “We had a breakthrough, with the numbers—I figured you’d like to know. _Also_ , I wondering if there’s any of Jihoon’s lovely _pie_ left, assuming you are willing to _share_ of course.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him, warningly. Though he now knows it’s just Jihoon’s literal pie Jeonghan’s referring to, and not his lovely, taut, metaphorical pie—(which, honestly, where did he even get the idea that those two things were the same thing anyway) Seungcheol still points at the door and says, “Fuck off, he's mine.”

It's not professional, and certainly not going to do his image any favours, but Seungcheol doesn't give a shit.

Jihoon's his PA and he's calling dibs. 


End file.
